


Warm Me Up (Beneath The Sheets, Babe)

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek secretly likes it, Frotting, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Stiles is Bossy, cuddling for warmth, cuddling that leads to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's in a dark place, he knows. He doesn't seem to be able to move his limbs. There's a stiffness in his fingers that goes straight down to his toes. He's cold, so cold that he doesn't care anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Me Up (Beneath The Sheets, Babe)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt on Tumblr, but I fixed it up and made it longer.

Stiles' brain is constantly going. It's like an assembly line of different thoughts; continuous, always building. It's a part of who he is, always has been, always will. They say the ADHD is partly to blame, but Stiles thinks it would be this way even if he didn't have the disorder. His constant awareness; it was there as a child when his mother was dying, it is there when he sees his father slipping away in his bottle of Jack.

But now, right now, his mind is slow. The assembly line has stopped, and he can't seem to think at all. He's in a dark place, he knows. He doesn't seem to be able to move his limbs. There's a stiffness in his fingers that goes straight down to his toes. He's cold, so cold that he doesn't care anymore.

He vaguely recalls that there were hunters and that he was kidnapped for information...or something. He can't remember too much other than the fact that they've locked him here. He doesn't know how much time has passed. It could have been minutes, or hours, (or weeks as it feels like it’s been).

He barely registers the banging and busting of a door a few feet away from him. There are quick footfalls that slip his attention before there are a pair of hands grabbing him all over - he can't feel those either.

"Shit Stiles. Shit, shit, _shit_. They put you in a fucking meat freezer," it's a deep voice, smooth if it weren't for the harsh breathing, "We need to get you out of here. Can you walk?"

Stiles gives the man a sluggish blink, "Der'k," is all that comes out of his shivering mouth. His breath has become shallow; coming out in low hisses. 

"Yeah, it's me," and if Stiles had his normal awareness, he would have noticed that Derek's brows were pulled together in an expression that meant concern.

Derek grabs Stiles carefully; not at all in the rough manner he usually deals with Stiles, and even goes as far as to carry him out of the winter-like room. He has them in a car - the Camaro Stiles' brain would supply if it could - with its heater cranked up all the way as he drives away from the hunter's hideout.

If Stiles was more alert, he would ask what happened to the hunters, and Derek would bare his teeth and show Stiles his bloodied hands. But Stiles is not alert and therefore stays silent. The only noise coming from the young man is the sound of teeth and body vibrating, and it unnerves Derek. He wants to hear Stiles' voice; he wants to hear gratuitous Batman references and see the expressive hand gestures that come with telling how awesome Dick Grayson became when he stopped being Robin and became Nightwing.  Instead Derek gets a dull-eyed ghost who is curled into himself looking for a warmth that is not there.

"Cold," Stiles gasps, and then his teeth clatter even harder together.

Derek can't make it home without Stiles taking a turn for the worst. He can't exactly go to the hospital either, so he does the next best thing and goes to a cheap motel room with a good heater.

He's gentle with Stiles, so _so_ gentle because other than the hypothermia, Stiles is covered in cuts and bruises, and Derek is happy about the way he took care of the hunters. They deserved it for what they did to the - not innocent, Stiles is many things but none of them are innocent - valuable thing that is Stiles Stilinski. He places him in a chair first, so that he can gently rip off the wet clothes - _wet_ and they still put Stiles in a fucking meat locker; he could have frozen to death if Derek came any later. It makes him want to yell at Stiles, to call him stupid for getting involved in a war that should have nothing to do with him - but he doesn't. Stiles wouldn't be able to argue back, and Derek won't take that away from him. 

When the clothes are off, he places Stiles in the middle of the bed and tries not to pay attention to the fact that he's seeing the young man naked for the first time. He's lean - Derek can see the muscles that are constantly being covered in layers of clothing, and thinks, _shame that something like that is hidden_  - and where there aren't bruises or cuts, there are small dots of birthmarks scattered around his entire body. And Derek would love to sit there and admire the view, but the view is currently shivering and he needs to fix that. So off Derek's clothes go before he drapes himself and a few covers over Stiles.

Like a heat-seeking missile Stiles huddles closer to Derek, puts his ice-cube of a nose in the crook of Derek's neck after bumping into Derek's nose first, and his frozen hands between their bodies albeit bit clumsily. He hums in content and it feels like he belongs there. Derek inhales sharply at the immediate welcome.

"Cold," Stiles slurs and his icy breath tickles Derek's collar-bone.

"I know," Derek grunts, because their fronts are pressed together, and despite the cold and the circumstance he can't help getting aroused. It's kind of fucked up, he thinks, but that’s how his life is. He closes his eyes and tunes into Stiles' heartbeat. It's still slow, much to his chagrin, and his breathing is still shallow - it makes Derek want to put his mouth on Stiles' and breathe for him.

Stiles senses himself slipping into unconsciousness when a shiver prevents it from happening. He feels like all of the energy has been sucked right out of him, and there's a cold in his bones that isn't going away. He faintly remembers Derek getting him out of the dark place, but he doesn't know where he is now, because all he can see is Derek's skin in front of his face.

He's warm, so warm, too warm and not warm enough. Stiles can't help but want more, so he follows his instincts to get more. And if Stiles was more aware, his brain would tell him what he was doing was stupid and will get him killed by teeth to throat syndrome provided by the one and only Derek Hale. But he wasn't aware, and he could make all the poor decisions he damn well pleased.

He drags his face over to slot his mouth over Derek's and Derek takes no time in responding by shoving his tongue in Stiles' mouth and exploring, almost as if he were hungry for it. The heat the kiss generates is intoxicating and Stiles presses closer for more. Always more. Derek responds by biting at Stiles' lips - a hard bite, if the blood coming out of the bite was any indication, but the blood is warm so Stiles doesn't care.

Stiles vaguely registers the way Derek's hand cradles the back of his head while the other rubs up and down his body, leaving a burning streak behind each stroke.

"More," Stiles grits out through trembling teeth.

Derek chuckles, honest-to-god-chuckles and Stiles wants to hit him for it. Of all the times, of all the _ways_  Stiles tried to get the guy to crack a smile, this is when he finally does it.

"You don't ask for much," Derek raises his stupidly perfect eyebrow and acts like what Stiles is asking is a hardship, but his breathing is ragged and Stiles knows damn well that Derek wants this too.

"Derek," Stiles rolls his hips forward, making Derek gasp and, whelp - there goes the Alpha Red eyes and they light a fire within Stiles like nobody's business.

Derek moves so that he's fully on top of Stiles now, bites at his neck and ruts against him almost violently.

"You want this," Derek whispers hotly at Stiles' neck, "I'll give it to you."

If Stiles wants to fuck the cold away, who is Derek to deny him that?

Stiles responds by raking his nails down the other man’s back hard enough to make a normal person bleed. He then slides his hands down to squeeze at Derek’s ass. It’s firm under his palms, and he’s pretty sure he could bounce pennies off of it if Derek ever let him try.

The silly thought all but melts away as Derek grinds into him, hot and slow, and there is nothing but the feel of Derek’s searing skin against his, on Stiles’ mind. It should hurt, with all the injuries he’s sustained, and it does, but it only heightens the pleasure Stiles feels. He gasps at the heat coiling tightly in the pit of his stomach and brings his hips up to meet Derek in a grind of his own.

Suddenly Stiles doesn’t know what to do with his hands – whether to hold Derek’s shoulders or pull his hair, or grab his arms, he just doesn’t know. But Derek makes the decision for him as he grabs both of Stiles’ still cold hands with one of his searing ones, and pins them above his head. And of course, Stiles being Stiles, he struggles against the hold, almost working up a sweat because Derek’s hand is like an iron cuff around his wrists, but then Derek’s growling,

“Stop struggling,” in his ear.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles says, because he’s not sure why he’s so turned on by it, but what he is sure of is that he wants more, “Derek, I _need_ –“

The werewolf cuts him off, which is nothing really new, except that he does it with his tongue. It’s a fierce, sloppy kiss that leaves Stiles breathless when Derek decides to stop and kiss down at the base of his throat, and then lower. Derek’s open mouthed kisses brand Stiles’ skin as he makes his way down and Stiles is left making these little noises that he’s sure to be embarrassed about later. Right now he couldn’t care less.

Derek lets go of Stiles’ wrists, but pins him with a look that says “ _keep them there_ ” so Stiles’ arms stay where they are above his head. The hands slide down his arms, over his bruised ribs, and stops to hold him – spreading fire wherever they touch.

Derek takes time to kiss every cut and bruise, and it’s so tender, so _intimate_ that Stiles almost has to look away. He feels the pain the syphon away from his body, and wonders what Derek is doing to him. Before he can find it in him to ask, however, Derek has already kissed his way back up Stiles’ body and started to press his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck with a deep inhale.

It vaguely registers in Stiles’ mind that Derek is _scenting_ him, which, okay. Weird. Not like this whole thing isn’t weird already, but Stiles has no idea why he’s doing it, until it clicks.

Stiles moves his arms from their position so he can slide a hand into Derek’s hair, and the other on his back, rubbing a slow circle. A part of him selfishly wants to just continue the sexy shit they were working up to, but Stiles gets it kind of. He turns his face so that he can press his lips to Derek’s ear.

“I’m okay, Derek.”

The man just makes some sort of noise that Stiles can’t seem to decipher, and tightens his hold on the boy beneath him.

Stiles licks at the shell of Derek ear, then whispers, “Are you okay?”

Derek brings up a hand to hold Stiles’ jaw and pushes his head to the side, exposing his neck in the process.

“Of course I am, idiot,” he nips at the exposed tender flesh, causing heat to wave down the boy’s body.

“Good,” a grin stretches across Stiles’ face as he reaches between their bodies to grip both their cocks firmly in his (now warm, so _very_ warm) hand. Derek takes in a stuttered breath and his eyebrows flutter when Stiles starts massaging them. There’s enough pre-come to slick their way so it feels so _good_ and Derek starts groaning, fucking into Stiles’ closed fist while rubbing against Stiles’ cock at the same time and his breath is coming in sharp, ragged pants. Stiles can almost swear he sees the glint of red seeping out of Derek’s half-lidded eyes, and the moan that rips out of his mouth is loud and downright humiliating.

Derek tangles his fingers with Stiles’ free hand, bringing it above Stiles’ head – and Stiles wonders if it’s a thing. Maybe Derek would like to handcuff him to the bed one day? He could be down for that – and it’s a sweet gesture, holding hands, until he wraps his other hand around the hand Stiles is using to jerk them both off (because that’s when it turns all kinds of filthy).

Derek makes the grip tighter, and it’s borderlining on painful, but not quite, as a surge of pleasure punches them both in the gut at nearly the same time.  This time, when Stiles whimpers, he can’t find it in him to be ashamed because Derek makes the same exact noise.

The speed picks up, and they lock eyes for an intense moment before Derek drops his head down to give a deep, rather thorough kiss. It’s enough to set Stiles off, and he swears he blacks out for a moment, screaming Derek’s name into the man’s mouth as he spills all over their fingers and between their bodies.

Stiles, till the day he dies, will swear that Derek howled then, before moving to bite down on his neck. Derek holds him there, between his teeth, as he joins Stiles with an orgasm of his own and he collapses on top of the younger man moments later.

They stay like that for a while, before Derek is sliding off Stiles to get off the bed. Stiles reaches out and grabs Derek’s arm in a flash before the man can fully leave the bed.

“Nope, you’re staying here and enjoying the afterglow with me,” he orders, pulling at Derek’s arm with a strength that shouldn’t really be there.

“I’m going to get something to clean us up,” Derek frowns, looking at Stiles like he’s ridiculous.

Which, Stiles totally is because he keeps on pulling.

“I don’t care. You can do that later. Right now I want you and your amazingly hot body on top of me, in this bed, warming me up as we both go to _sleep_ ,” he stresses the ‘sleep’ part because he just noticed how _tired_ he was at the moment.

Derek gives him an exasperated look, “You’re so fucking bossy.”

But he lets himself be pulled anyway, and ends up sort of sprawled on top of Stiles, who is laughing. And _God_ , how glad Derek is to hear that laugh of his - that voice of his, even.

“You still like me though,” Stiles teases, “enough to be my very personal heater.”

Derek rolls his eyes and pinches a rosy nipple in retaliation to the quip, causing Stiles to hiss.

“Go to sleep, Stiles.”

The young man looks at Derek from under his eyelashes with pursed lips.

“Just as long as you’ll only be _my_ personal heater,” he says, tone playful with a base of seriousness underneath.

Derek smiles then – and he can hear Stiles’ heart skip a beat, which only makes him smile harder – before he leans in to press a chaste kiss on Stiles’ cheek. He revels in the blush that spreads over the young man’s face, and decides he’d like to see it more often.

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” he repeats softly, pulling Stiles tightly against himself.

He feels a grin press against his skin and knows Stiles got the message.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was supposed to be Sterek, "Huddling for warmth." But...huddle turned into sexytimes? Whoopsie.


End file.
